


Sidekick

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Series: Secret Avengers 'Verse [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Clint Barton, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Tales of Suspense #100, Top Clint Barton, hate to not so much hate, post Tales of Suspense 100, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: Post Tales of Suspense volume 100: Clint gets turned down for breakfast, but his consolation prize is far from disappointing.





	Sidekick

**Author's Note:**

> (will be a prequel to a larger Winterhawk/Symbrock/Avengers long fic, can be read as a stand alone)
> 
> Not beta'ed. I got punched in the face with Winterhawk after jokingly shipped it and now I'm in this dumpster. This picks up immediately following Tales of Suspense #100. Not entirely canon-compliant.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr under @feathers-and-cigarettes

“Want to get some breakfast?”

“No.”

Clint wasn’t sure he wanted a sidekick who said no to waffles, to be honest. He stared at Bucky’s retreating form, eyes drifting to a quick ass check. Yep. Still nice.

“Want to go back to the motel, have a good roll in the hay?”

Clint also wasn’t sure what prompted that question, other than his usual lack of brain-mouth filter. Maybe he just hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe he was started to be attracted to Bucky’s particular brand of grease and exasperation.

Or the ass. Probably the ass.

Bucky stopped, pausing for a minute before turning to look quizzically at Clint. “Excuse me?”

Did they say shit like that in the forties? Clint shouldered his bow and gestured with his hands. “Y’know. Hide the hotdog. Do the horizontal tango. Play –“

“I’m old, Barton, not stupid.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Clint shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Life or death situations always got him revved up – probably some sign his wires were crossed somewhere. Just add one more quirk to the Weird Clint Barton Shit list.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, face expressionless and still somewhat scary even with his metal arm slung across his back like a quiver.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Clint blinked. He tapped his hearing aid and squinted at Bucky’s lips. Nope. Expression hadn’t changed. His question had been half joke, half wishful thinking, half just wanting to make Bucky squirm. He hadn’t expected…

Wait. Too many halves. Fractions had never been his strong suit anyway.

“You have ten seconds before I change my mind,” Bucky said, familiar irritation creeping into his voice.

“Right. Okay. Yeah.” Clint glanced around before waving at one of the cops. “I ain’t walkin’ back to Tremont though, let’s see if we can get a lift.”

It wasn’t the _most_ awkward car ride Clint had ever been in, but it ranked up there at least in the top fifteen. The cop kept glancing back at them in the rearview mirror – okay, mostly at Bucky – and clearing his throat. Guess he never expected to play taxi driver for an Avenger and the Winter Soldier – both of them filthy and covered in blood and dirt and ash and probably _reeking_ of swamp ass.

Would the remains of Bucky’s arm rust if they had shower sex?

Probably not. Hopefully not.

The cop dropped them off in front of the shitty motel in Tremont. Bucky silently opened the door and headed for the room, metal arm dangling from his grasp and bouncing lightly along the pavement.

Clint watched him go before giving the cop a quick “Thanks, bro” and scrambling after Bucky with a lack of grace that would have made his old carnie family cringe.

Inside the motel room, Clint tossed his bow on the other bed and kicked off his boots. Bucky’s arm lay on the bed next to the bow, a strange sight, especially with its owner nowhere to be seen.

The shower kicked on behind the closed bathroom door and Clint frowned. Was he supposed to join him? Were they not going to fuck?

Still not the weirdest hookup he’d had. He supposed he at least got the answer to his rust question.

Unsure if he should undress, he found the remote and switched the tv on. British Bake Off was on, thank god. His eyes flicked to the captions out of habit and he shifted uncomfortably.

Maybe they did things differently in the forties. Maybe Clint had completely misread the situation – wouldn’t be the first time he’d hit on a straight guy, probably wouldn’t be his last.

A throat cleared to his left and Clint almost did a double take, sitting bolt upright as steam wafted in from the bathroom.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, letting his towel drop to the floor. “I left the water on for you,” he drawled, eyes never leaving Clint’s as he crossed over to the bed.

“Aw, way to take all the surprise out of things, Buck,” Clint breathed, letting his gaze follow the droplets of water as they dripped from Bucky’s hair down his bare chest to his –

“You smell like a foot locker, Barton. Shower. You have three minutes or I’m putting pants back on.”

Clint sprang to his feet, tripped, caught himself, and skidded into the bathroom. He probably should have played it cool, maybe taken a peek to see if the ass was as nice as it looked under the pants, but playing it cool wasn’t really one of his strong points.

Swearing at his t-shirt as he struggled to get it over his head with one hand as the other fumbled with his belt buckle, Clint managed to get undressed. He tossed his hearing aids onto the sink, pausing for a second as the sound of the water abruptly stopped.

If Bucky were just fucking with him, now would be the time to leave. Clint glanced back through the still-open door, swallowing heavily and pushing down his lingering self-consciousness.

Bucky had sprawled himself out on the bed, propped up with pillows and lazily stroking himself. His eyes met Clint’s and he held up two fingers, mouthing “two minutes.”

Shaking himself mentally, Clint flashed him a grin. “You better last longer than that,” he said, taking care to enunciate and probably not speaking loudly enough. He fucking hated not being able to hear his own words, even more so than not being able to hear anyone else’s.

A smirk cracked across Bucky’s normally stoic features and Clint called it a win.

Hopping in the shower, Clint bit back a yelp as the hot water burned into his newest cuts. He gave himself a cursory scrub down with the industrial strength motel soap – they had to make that shit out of borax or something - and decided the water would rinse most of the sweat out of his hair.

He turned off the tap and grabbed the remaining towel. Drying himself off one handed as the other fiddled with his hearing aids was hopefully not as embarrassing as it felt, but hey, at least he didn’t reek anymore. Even if they didn’t get further than mutual handjobs, Clint at least appreciated not smelling and tasting post-battle funk.

Bucky’s eyes were laser focused on him as he switched the light off in the bathroom and padded toward the bed. He tilted his head a fraction, gaze darting from Clint’s eyes to his ears and back again.

“Not as much fun if I can’t hear all the noises you’re gonna make,” Clint quipped, briefly touching the outer edge of one of the hearing aids.

“Are you ever not arrogant?” Bucky asked, reaching out to slide his hand up Clint’s flank.

“I kinda suck at cooking,” Clint replied, biting the inside of his lip as Bucky’s hand seared a trail up the side of his ribcage.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his lips to Bucky’s chest, feeling the muscles tense and jump as Bucky hitched a breath. Grinning to himself, Clint set to work with teeth and tongue, one hand coming up to play with a nipple and scratch lightly along the flat abdomen.

Bucky hissed through gritted teeth as Clint sucked a nipple into his mouth. He pressed insistently at Clint’s side, urging him closer.

Swinging a leg over Bucky’s hips, Clint let out a happy moan as his cock slid along Bucky’s. The super soldier was still warm from the shower and it had been way too fucking long since Clint had felt another man’s body against his own. Thrusting his hips languidly, he resumed his assault on Bucky’s torso.

Fingertips gripped his ass hard enough to nearly leave a bruise as Clint slid his lips up the side of Bucky’s neck and bit gently into the corded muscle. He mouthed at the bolt of Bucky’s jaw, tongue flicking across the stubble there before shifting his weight to kiss him.

Two taps to his hip made him pause and he pulled back with a worried expression. Had he fucked up already?

“No kissing on the lips,” Bucky said firmly, bringing his hand up to scratch at Clint’s scalp.

“Okay, yeah,” Clint breathed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back into the touch. “Anything else off limits?”

Bucky surged upright – not an easy thing to do with one arm and the other still at the back of Clint’s skull – and licked a trail of fire up Clint’s throat. He kissed and nipped his way across Clint’s jawline, hesitating when he reached the scars at the base of Clint’s ears.

“Is this okay?” Bucky murmured, his breath ghosting just below the hearing aid.

Clint shuddered, letting his arms drop to Bucky’s broad shoulders as he nodded. “Yeah, s’fine. Got plenty of scars to go around between us, huh?”

Bucky didn’t reply, instead nipping at Clint’s earlobe before sucking a bruise just below it.

Letting out a keening whine, Clint dug his fingernails into Bucky’s upper back. His neck had always been a hot spot, but _damn_. Bucky wasn’t half bad for an old bastard.

Scrabbling one hand over to the end table, Clint managed to pull the drawer almost entirely out and fished around for the small tube of hand lotion he had stashed there the previous night. He hadn’t really counted on getting lucky but he was never one to count it entirely out either.

“How do you want to,” Clint’s voice broke into a sharp gasp as Bucky sucked at his pulse point, “ah, Jesus, _fuck_. How d’you wanna do this?”

Bucky shrugged his metal shoulder, lips moving deliciously against Clint’s skin as he spoke. “Up to you.”

“What’s the least likely way you’ll accidentally break me?”

Huffing a quiet laugh – miracle of miracles, the Winter Soldier had a sense of humour – and falling back against the pillow, Bucky traced various scars on Clint’s chest with his fingertips. “Probably easiest if you’re on top,” he said. “You’ve got both arms to keep yourself up.”

Oh. Shit. Right.

“Aw, fuck, sorry,” Clint said with a grimace. Way to be insensitive, Barton.

Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved Clint’s shoulder.

“Okay, right, I’ll just shut myself up, how’s that?” Without waiting for an answer, Clint scooted himself down Bucky’s body and kneeled between his legs. He flicked his tongue across the tip of Bucky’s cock before wrapping his lips around the tip and relaxing his throat. His gag reflex hadn’t failed him yet, but if there were ever a time for it to do so, it would be with Bucky Fucking Barnes.

A hand slammed back into his hair and boy wasn’t that a nice sensation. Clint glanced up at Bucky as he bobbed his head slowly up and down, his tongue pressing against the head on every upstroke.

And what a beautiful sight _that_ was. Bucky’s head was thrown back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent gasp as he panted. Long hair – turned out not greasy after all – framed his handsome features and the wide blue eyes were squeezed shut.

Thumbing open the cap to the lotion, Clint squeezed out a generous portion and slipped his fingers into the crease of Bucky’s ass. He mouthed at Bucky’s foreskin, wrenching a strained groan from the super soldier as he worked one finger in and out. The hand in his hair clenched almost painfully and Clint paused his stretching, instead sucking the head of Bucky’s dick back into his mouth.

Slowly Bucky relaxed, the vice grip he had on Clint’s hair fading into strokes of encouragement. How long had it been since the guy had gotten laid? Had he ever been with another man before?

Probably should have asked before he went and stuck two fingers into the poor bastard’s ass, but oh well.

“I’m fine, keep going,” Bucky breathed, voice strained. “Not gonna break, just fuck me.”

Humming around Bucky’s cock in acknowledgement, Clint slicked up his own erection and tossed the tube of lotion over his shoulder. He wiped his hand the bed sheets and hitched Bucky’s legs around his waist, lining himself up with one hand before easing in slowly.

Oh god, forget how long it’d been since Bucky had gotten laid, it had been _far_ too long since Clint had done this.

Clint shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath as tight heat surrounded him. He shifted one of Bucky’s legs, hand sliding down the thickly muscled calf to, finally, squeeze his ass.

Bucky grinned up at him, hooking his legs firmly around Clint’s torso. “You’ve been wanting to do that all day, haven’t you?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Clint laughed. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearms and nosed at Bucky’s throat. “Gettin’ outta that panic room and your ass was just… right there, man.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Snapping his hips forward, Clint tested out a couple of angles before he was rewarded with a loud moan from the man below him. Chuckling, he pressed open mouthed kisses into Bucky’s neck, savouring the taste of sweat and the masculine scent lingering under the cheap motel soap.

Bucky’s nails dug into his back as he panted harshly into Clint’s ear. For someone who didn’t usually have a lot to say, Bucky was vocal as fuck in bed, constantly making small needy sounds and quiet moans and Clint would really have to thank Stark again for the quality hearing aids because _this_ was pure music.

Bracing himself on one arm, Clint reached between them to wrap his other hand around Bucky’s steadily dripping cock and stroked in time to his thrusts. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate, but he’d be damned if he came before Bucky.

The mattress springs squeaked in protest as Clint sped up his thrusts, hips slapping against Bucky’s at an even pace. He abandoned his kissing, instead just panting into the flushed skin just under Bucky’s ear at the curve of his jaw.

“Barton,” Bucky whined, his hand falling from Clint’s back to twist into the sheets. “Clint, I’m close.”

So was Clint. His abdominal muscles tightened as he fought back his orgasm and sped up his hand on Bucky’s cock, twisting his wrist on every upstroke.

“S’fine, Buck, c’mon,” he grunted into Bucky’s neck, punctuating his words with a sharp nip and a hard thrust.

He was _so_ close to coming that he almost missed watching Bucky’s. The super soldier cried out and his muscles clamped down on Clint’s dick as he came, his whole body curving in and taut like a bowstring.

Clint managed to stroke Bucky through his orgasm and held him close as he let himself hurtle over the edge. He gasped, burying his face in Bucky’s hair and thrusting shallowly as he shuddered with the aftershocks.

He rocked into Bucky as long as he could stand it before pulling out and collapsing onto the bed next to him, nearly smashing his head on the mess of metal that remained of Bucky’s left arm.

“Jesus,” Clint breathed once his brain started functioning again.

“Can just call me Bucky,” came the quiet murmur from beside him.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Clint snorted and opened one eye to peer appreciatively at Bucky’s post-orgasm form. He reached over, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of Bucky’s eyes, fingertips lingering probably a second too long at his cheek before sitting up with a groan.

He rolled his shoulders, wincing as his spine popped and cracked, and slid out of bed. The bruises from the past two days and the new ones from Bucky’s fingers stood out in stark relief on his skin as he peered at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked like a hot mess, but at least a well-fucked hot mess. Grabbing a washcloth, he quickly wiped himself down and rinsed it, then carried it back out to the bed.

Bucky hissed as Clint dragged the wet cloth across his stomach and groin. “Messier than I thought,” he said with a grimace.

“Yeah, you’re probably gonna want to shower,” Clint agreed. He sat on the edge of the bed and frowned at the state of the sheets. “Probably gonna want to get new sheets too. When’s the last time you got laid anyway?”

Shrugging the non-broken shoulder, Bucky sat up against the headboard to give Clint more room. “Couple months ago, before everything went down with Natasha,” he said, looking away pointedly. “As far as with a man, I don’t remember. Not sure if I ever got around to it before Hydra got me.”

“Oh.” Awkward. Clint was never very good at this whole pillow talk shit. “I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “If it was your first time, I hope it didn’t suck.”

Bucky looked back up at him, tilting his head slightly before tugging Clint in close. Soft lips brushed Clint’s own, lingering for a long moment before pulling away.

A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips. “It didn’t suck.”

~*~*~*~

Clint groaned as he opened his eyes. A heavy weight was draped across his waist and unfamiliar legs tangled with his own.

Not the worst way he’d woken up in a long time.

He rolled onto his back, one hand groping at the end table for his hearing aids. “Didn’t expect you to stick around, Buck,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t have heard it if you had left anyway, you wouldn’t even have needed to sneak out.”

Blue eyes rolled and Bucky’s chest heaved with a sigh. He was laying on the broken metal arm, the end of it wrapped in blankets to not shred the bedding underneath him, and his other arm rested just above Clint’s hip.

Once Clint’s hearing aids were in, Bucky spoke, eyes dropping to where his hand rested on Clint’s stomach. “Felt weird just leaving,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you got out safely.”

Clint wriggled onto his back and smirked. “Aw, Bucky, you do care.”

“Don’t push it, Barton.”

Neither of them were going to mention the kiss, apparently.

“Y’know,” Clint said as he tentatively reached out to touch Bucky’s hand with his own. “I’m kinda putting a team together. So far it’s just me, Katie-Kate, and a guy named Thompson – and Lucky, of course – but, uh, if you’re ever bored…”

Bucky’s head tilted thoughtfully, eyes going distant before he seemed to shake himself out of it. “You could use a sidekick?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Bucky hummed, looking back at their joined hands. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that breakfast offer,” he said at last.

And maybe Clint didn’t hate Bucky Barnes after all.

**Author's Note:**

> It's up to the reader whether they want Bucky to meet up with Nat the following week, I deliberately left it open ended. Bucky is with Clint during the larger sequel, but he and Nat have some things to discuss. When that happens I'll leave up to you folks. Also this is my first time ever writing Bucky so I hope I did the ship justice.


End file.
